Etching Our Way (Broken Tracks Series Book 1) by Abigail Davies, Danielle Dickson (6)

I push back from my desk and grab my suit jacket, pushing my arms through the soft silk material that lines it before doing one of the buttons up.

My head starts to pound, almost as if it’s trying to get me out of the lunch that I have scheduled with my father—a lunch I don’t want to attend but I feel like I have no choice. It’ll be the first time that I’ve seen his face or spoken to him since he was in the courtroom when he was sentenced.

I have a feeling he’ll want to talk about the company, but he has no right to tell me what to do; he lost that right when he embezzled millions of dollars—and I’m not talking a few million, I’m talking in the hundreds of millions. When the FBI caught him, he swore that it wasn’t him, but ultimately, they found the evidence that convicted him. I know that he should have gone to prison for longer than he did, but he still had connections—connections that he used to get himself a shorter sentence.

It wasn’t until after the company was signed over to me that I realized the money he embezzled was a lot more than anyone knew.

Not only did he put a black mark on his own name, but he made it almost impossible for me to gain the trust of the board. I worked tirelessly at first to show them that I wasn’t my father and to gain their trust, but now I don’t care what they think. This is my company and I’ll do what I damn well please with it. They’re a formality and they know it, just as much as I do.

People steer clear of me as I make my way to the elevator, my cell pinging several times on the way. I ignore it, keeping my gaze pointed ahead of me and my shoulders back until I’m inside, pulling it out and answering emails and marking the ones I need to reply to when I’m back in the office.

The BETA store went down well with the board if the grins on their faces were anything to go by—even if they hated the idea, it wouldn’t have mattered because I would have given it the go ahead anyway. Talk of buying retail space was high on the agenda and I already have my team on it, looking for the best space in the city. There’s no way that we’ll be having any little kind of space, it needs to be front and center with my name above the door.

The board wants to roll it out quickly, having ten stores by the end of the year, but I’m more cautious. I know how retail can be nowadays and that the majority of sales come from online, but the board is mostly made up of a different generation that doesn’t understand that. Of course, the decision is ultimately up to me whether I go ahead with the stores and if I do, how many there will be, but I like to let them think that they have a say.

I look up and pocket my cell as the elevator doors open and I walk through the vast lobby that is full of people milling about and talking. Like always, the chatter dies down when they see me and I smirk, loving that them seeing me in a room makes them act that way. I can be ruthless when it comes to my business.

I make a point of gazing around the room before walking out of the front glass doors, getting into the car that Edward waits in outside of the building.

He tries to make small talk as we drive through the city to Zanders but my mind isn’t on what he’s talking about; it’s on the lunch that I’m about to have.

I haven’t see my father for nine years and the last time I spoke to him was when he called me as soon as he was released from prison a week ago. He didn’t once ask how we all were or how I was, instead he demanded I meet with him today.

Hearing his voice again for the first time in so long rendered me speechless, so much so that I never answered him before he ended the call.

Even as a grown man, I still feel like my father holds something over me. It’s like he thinks because he signed the company over to me that he has a right to boss me around. But he doesn’t; it may have been his name that started it, but it’s my name that will make it into the company that it always should have been.

“Thanks,” I tell Edward as I get out of the car when he pulls up outside of Zanders.

“What time do you want me back?” he asks as I button my jacket back up, pulling on the cuffs of my sleeves.

“I’ll call you,” I say, closing the door and turning to face the restaurant.

The floor-to-ceiling windows sparkle as the sunlight hits them and the white frames glisten. The two potted plants that sit either side of the main door greet me and my fingers run over the top of them as I push through the doors.

“Mr. Carter,” the maître d' greets me. “Your guest is already seated.”

She waves her arm and I follow her toward the back of the restaurant. The chairs are white and sleek with the same silver legs that the table have. The tables are glass with a circular brushed silver plate sitting in the middle where there’s glasses sitting on top of it, waiting for patrons to drink out of.

When I get to the table—at the back and to the left, close to the bar but far enough away that he won’t be noticed—I cringe at the sight of him already nursing a glass of whiskey, my heart beating in my chest at seeing him for the first time in almost a decade.

“Father.” I grimace, nodding in greeting to him.

He returns the gesture and it shows how much distance there is between us. I could never be this way with Clay, I’d wrap my arms around him and hold him, showing him how much I love him; no matter what age he is.

“Tristan,” he acknowledges, not bothering to stand up as his cloudy brown eyes flit back down to his glass.

He’s aged so much since he’s been in prison; he’s a shadow of the man that I grew up with.

The bags under his eyes tell me that he’s not been sleeping, and the stubble lining his cheeks has him looking ungroomed, so much so that he doesn’t look like he cares about himself anymore. I should care what he’s doing to himself, but I can’t bring myself to, not after everything he’s said and done.

Undoing the button of my suit jacket, I pull my chair out and sit down, looking up at the waitress as she sidles up to the table.

“Can I get you a drink, sir?”

“Water, please,” I answer, picking up my menu and scanning over it.

“I’ll have another whiskey... on the rocks,” he slurs.

Jesus, how many has he had already?

I don’t ask, it’s no use, he’ll only ignore me or tell me to mind my own business. I get that he’s only been out of prison a week, but this shouldn’t be his priority. Hell, who am I kidding? Whiskey and business have always been his top priority.

“So, I hear that you’ve rustled up quite the storm in the market since I’ve been gone.”

I lift my eyes to his, seeing his eyelids at half-mast. How can he already be drunk when it’s not even 1 p.m. yet?

“I’ve also heard that you’ve had the idea for stores.” I don’t answer him, choosing to ignore where this is going. “You’re going ahead with them, huh?”

“That’s none of your business,” I grind out, thanking the waitress as she places a glass bottle of water on the table, turning over the water glass and pouring it.

“I’ll tell you what you should do,” he says, ignoring me, leaning forward and almost knocking the glasses off the table. “You should open up twenty stores to begin with, then after six months, open up another twenty.”

I close my eyes, placing my fingers against my temples to try and stop the raging headache that is starting to form from the anger swirling around in my head. “I won’t be opening that many stores,” I tell him, feeling exasperated as I turn toward the waitress and order the seafood pasta.

“What?” I cringe at his surly voice and clench my jaw to stop myself from saying anything. “You need to start as you mean to go on, open as many as you can.”

“No,” I growl. “Most sales are online now, opening that many stores won’t serve any other purpose than to lose us money. I may as well give the money away if I opened—”

“I never should have signed the company over to you,” he barks out, his eyes full of fire as he leans back in his chair and gulps down the rest of his whiskey before holding his glass up in the air for another.

“Well it’s not like you had much choice, is it?” I spit out, leaning forward. “Had you not have been a criminal and embezzled all of that money, you’d still have the company and you’d still be able to dictate what should and shouldn’t happen to it.” He opens his mouth to say something but I cut him off. “You have no idea the turmoil that you caused.” I stare at him, my eyes narrowed. “It’s your own fault.”

“You never fucking listen, not back then and not now.” He slumps down in his seat, the drinks he’s been guzzling clearly starting to have a profound effect on him.

My nostrils flare and my hands clench into fists at his words. “Are you fucking kidding me?” I lean forward. “All I ever did was listen to you!” I thunder.

I stare at the shell of the man in front of me as my mind flits back to the last time he told me what I had to do.

“You’re going to marry her.”

My eyes widen at his words as they roll around in my head repeatedly.

“What?” I ask, sure that I heard him wrong.

He huffs and leans back in his chair, the green leather creaking as he does. “Natalia... you’re going to marry her. I need her father on board with this business deal, and this is a sure way of making it happen.”

I tilt my head, my eyes focused on a groove in the polished wood of his home office desk.

“Let me get this straight.” I clear my throat and bring my gaze back up to his, leaning forward in my seat as I clasp my hands together tightly. “You want me to marry Natalia to close a business deal?”

“That’s what I said, didn’t I?” He shakes his head, clearly exasperated that I haven’t yet grasped onto what he’s saying.

How can he not see what he’s asking—no, telling—me to do?

I can’t wrap my head around the fact that he’d do this to me. Not only is Natalia my best friend’s cousin, but she’s finishing up college, the same as Nate and me. I know that she intends to travel the world and dance, so how can he think that’s something that I want to take away from her?

Besides that, I have a girlfriend; a girlfriend that I love like I’ve never loved anything else in my entire life.

I stand up, widening my stance and shaking my head before spinning around and walking toward the door of his office. “No.”

My hand grips the brass door knob as he says, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

The threatening tone to his voice has my hand stilling and the muscles in my back tensing. Closing my eyes, I see her face clearly, her smile and the happiness that shines brightly in her eyes. There’s no way I’ll do this to her.

I turn around, facing him and grimacing at the sneer on his face. “I’m not scared of you, you can’t force me to marry Natalia.”

He’s silent a beat before he pushes out of his chair, standing to his full height as his hands brace on his desk. He leans forward, a muscle in his jaw ticking. “I have more power in my baby finger than you will ever have in your whole body.”

“I don’t give a damn,” I say, pulling open the door. “I won’t do it.”

“You will marry her, or I’ll show you what a man like me can do. Blood or not, you won’t defy me.”

His voice comes closer and I spin around to face him in the open door. “Want to bet?”

“Fucking try me, son. Try me and see what I’m really capable of.”

He narrows his eyes at me, turning to face the waitress when she comes back over to our table again to replenish our drinks. “Make it snappy,” he tells the young girl who takes his empty glass. He turns back to me, a sneer spreading across his lips. “And look how that turned out, where is she now, huh? Six feet un—”

“Don’t you fucking dare!” I shout, shooting up out of my chair, my chest heaving as a loud clattering sound echoes around us as the chair crashes to the floor behind me. “Don’t you dare say one more fucking word—”

“Or what? What do you think you can do, huh?” He raises a brow, daring me.

I’m silent for a beat as anger burns a path through my veins. I have to try and control my temper. “You want to see what I’m capable of?” I take a step around the table, bracing my hands on it and looking down at him. “Fucking try me, because I can guaran-fucking-tee you that I have more power than you ever had.”

I watch him, his eyes misting over as he sways side to side. “You won’t do—”

“I fucking will,” I growl, getting impossibly close to his face and holding my breath at the stench that emanates off him. “You were never a father to me, you were an abusive dictator who thought that he could rule my life. Not anymore, old man.” I stand back up to my full height, calmly buttoning up my jacket before looking back up at his angry expression and smirking. “You’ve been gone for a long time, things change, people change.” I pause, letting that sink in before spitting out, “You’re worthless in this city, I’m done with you. Don’t contact me again.” Turning on my heels, I weave in and out of the tables before telling the waitress to put the food and drinks on my tab.

“Don’t you walk away from me!”

I take one last look at him when I get to the door, my gaze flitting over his tired features. He’s not worth my time anymore, he never was. I shake my head before walking out of the door and turning my back on him for the final time. I won’t let him dictate what I can or can’t do, he’s poison and I won’t have him in mine or the kids’ lives.

I call Edward when I get outside, telling him that I’ll be walking back to the office. I need the fresh air to wrap around me and calm me while giving myself some time to think.

I push my hands into my pants pockets, watching all the people rushing to get lunch and heading back to their workplace before their breaks are over. The streets are full of sky-high buildings, offices on nearly all of the floors. I look up at them, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk and marveling at the sight of the city.

Ever since I became CEO I feel like I haven’t stopped, my mind is almost always on the job; what I should and shouldn’t be doing, where to go next. It’s been going one hundred miles a minute and for some reason, today it’s stopped. My head finally clearing of everything.

A flash of color on a woman’s scarf has my mind flitting back to the woman I saw flying past the office windows earlier this week. I can’t seem to get the image of her out of my head. I didn’t see her face but if I close my eyes, I can imagine what her face looks like now. I bet it hasn’t changed one bit since the last time I saw her.

Someone barges past me, hitting my shoulder and I open my eyes back up, shaking my head and clenching my hands at remembering her. I don’t want to remember her, I don’t want to think about her or what we could have been had I done ten years ago what I did just now.

Another person barges past me and I narrow my eyes at them; that’s the problem with most of us nowadays, we’re always in a rush, never stopping and basking in all that life has to offer. All we think about is work and what we need to do, our minds focused on the past and what we should have done.

It’s time I slowed down for good. It’s time I put my family first and switch off. I can’t remember the last time I had a full day off, but that’s going to change this weekend. I fully intend to take time out and make memories with Clay and Izzie. I need to be the father that my own wasn’t.

I don’t want Clay to be me in fifteen years, dreading seeing his dad because I wasn’t around when it mattered. I want him to see me as someone that he can come to no matter what. To talk to me about anything and everything; to confide in me.

A smile spreads on my face as I see my building. At least I always have control and know what to do there, that’s never been a question, I’m damn good at my job.

I step into the building and look down at my shoes when I see color out of my peripheral vision, lifting the left one and pulling off the flyer that’s stuck to the bottom.

I chuckle as I read it. The universe must have known that I need a break and something to offer the kids.

I fold it up and push it into my pocket, fully intending to take Clay and Izzie to this on the weekend. They’ve only ever been to clubs at their school—apart from Izzie’s dancing— and they’re always academic clubs; they never get to express themselves like this.

I head toward the elevator, pressing the button for my floor and riding it up. The doors spring open and I walk over to Catiya’s desk.

“Get me the computer tech supervisor, I want a meeting with him in my office in thirty minutes.”

“Erm… the computer tech supervisor?” she asks, a frown marring her face as she audibly swallows.

“Yes,” I huff, impatient that she doesn’t know who the hell it is. “Jared. His name is Jared, Catiya. How the hell do you not know this? You’ve been working here for six months.”

“I… erm… I…”

I roll my eyes and walk away from her as she stumbles on her words. I don’t have time for that.

I push open the front door, my shoulders slumped down and my eyes burning after a long day at work.

All I want to do is to get in the shower then into my sweatpants and relax with the kids. I don’t want to have to think about the board that are constantly asking for my time or the emails that are sitting on my cell unanswered, or the fact that I’ve just disowned my father—something I should’ve done a long time ago.

I start walking toward the stairs but come to a stop when I hear laughter coming from the kitchen.

“More chocolate!” Izzie shouts, making Amelia chuckle.

I spin around, my feet carrying me to the kitchen on automatic before I push the door open, seeing Clay and Izzie standing on step stools on either side of Amelia. The counter is scattered with baking ingredients: flour and sugar covering most of the surfaces.

“Dad!” Clay shouts, jumping down off the stool and running at me. “We’re making cookies! Come and help.”

My muscles lock as I stare at them all having fun as they bake. My mind swirls with memories of Natalia trying to bake with a two-year-old Clay, trying her best to get him to taste the mixture and make ball shapes with the cookie dough.

He loved the taste of the raw dough more than the baked cookies. The day that I came home to Natalia dancing around the kitchen with Clay in her arms as he ate a ball of the raw dough brings a smile to my face that drops immediately when I hear Amelia’s laughter.

Clay grabs my hand, shocking me out of my reverie as he pulls me over to the counter that they have made their baking station.

“Hi, Daddy.” Izzie waves and I can’t help but chuckle when I see her face covered in flour. When Amelia turns to face me, a burst of laughter escapes me, not able to hold it in as my head tilts back and my body shakes.

“What?” she asks, spinning to face Izzie and then Clay, her brows drawn down.

“You have a little…” I manage to get four words out before the laughter takes ahold of me again, rendering any speech useless.

She frowns even more at my outburst and moves over to the silver toaster oven, catching her reflection and giggling at herself.

“Well.” She clears her throat. “I think it looks kind of cool.” She pushes her shoulders back, embracing it as she struts back over to us, her hips swinging side to side dramatically.

“Daddy?” Izzie calls and I turn my head to her, but I’m too late to see what she’s doing before I feel a handful of flour hit my face and hear her giggles as she jumps off the step stool and runs away.

“I… I…” I can’t believe she did that.

I wipe my hand over my face, the flour not moving at all and making it worse as I manage to spread it all over my dark blue suit jacket. The dry cleaner is going to have a field day with that.

“Ohhhh! Izzie’s gonna get it!” Clay singsongs as I open my eyes, searching for Izzie and finding her on the other side of the kitchen, standing as far away from me as she can get.

“Don’t worry, Izzie!” Amelia shouts coming to a stop in front of Izzie, spreading her arms wide and moving side to side. “I’ll protect you!”

I raise a brow, turning to Clay and smirking. “It’s like that, is it?” I ask, grabbing the packet of flour discreetly. “Boys against girls.”

“Girls are the best!” Izzie shouts, coming from behind Amelia with her hands on her hips. “We beat boys, alll daaay long!”

I chuckle at her facial expressions before slipping my arms out of my jacket and rolling the sleeves of my shirt up.

My movements are slow and measured as I take stock of where Amelia and Izzie are looking; giving away where they’re going to run.

I lean closer to Clay, whispering, “You get Amelia, I’ll get Izzie.”

“On it,” he replies, his face serious and full of determination as he swipes the packet of powdered sugar off the counter.

I whisper-count to three before we both jump forward, chasing after them both. They squeal, trying their hardest not to get hit as they flail their arms about and weave in and out of the kitchen furniture.

Clay misses Amelia three times, getting more on himself than anywhere else before he finally manages to get a little on her.

I let Izzie think that she’s won, but as I’m about to strike and give up the game I’m playing, my foot slips on some errant flour and my arms flail about beside me, the flour spilling out of the packet and causing a flour tornado to surround me.

I cough and splutter against it, not able to quite catch my breath. The flour starts to clear and I spot all three of them as they all stand stock still, watching as I crash to the floor.

My back lands with a thud and I squeeze my eyes shut for a millisecond before opening them and watching the bag of flour in the air, heading right for my face in slow motion.

I groan, knowing that I won’t be able to move quickly enough before it splats me. I close my mouth and eyes, preparing to be covered and just as it hits me, something wet does too.

“Oops.” Amelia giggles and I open my eyes to see her standing over me; Clay and Izzie on the other side, each with an egg in their hand.

“Don’t you—”

Their arms reel back and I bring my arm up to my face as they slam the eggs on me, yolk and slimy egg white running all over me and mixing in with the flour, making one big gooey mess.

My dry cleaner is really going to have a field day with this, but I don’t care, because all that matters is the laughter that fills the kitchen; laughter that is much needed, laughter that I will cherish.

I jump up suddenly, causing them to all squeal and back away. My arms come out and I capture Amelia, rubbing the flour and egg combination all over her as she chuckles so much she snorts.

“Tris!” she shouts as I lift her over my shoulder, smirking at Clay and Izzie.

I ignore her as I step toward the back door and fling it open. “I think you should wash all of this flour off.”

Two sets of footsteps follow me out into the backyard and over the grass as I make my way toward to the pool.

“Don’t you dare, Tristan Carter.”

I throw my head back in a laugh, coming to a stop at the edge of the pool. “You started it,” I say.

“Tris…”

I pull her off my shoulder, throwing her into the pool but she doesn’t let me go and I go barreling into the freezing cold pool beside her.

“Oh!” My breath catches as I watch the flour and egg disperse in the water, turning it from a clear blue to a murky blue.

“Serves you right,” Amelia says, snorting and swimming to the side.

“Damn.” I shake my head as I watch Amelia stand next to Clay and Izzie who are snorting with laughter.

This is what I needed today; to have fun and rid my mind of the constant warring thoughts that swirl inside of it daily.

I drop the paintbrushes into a pot and hang them on the metal rod over by the easels, standing back afterward, admiring them appreciatively.

“Harm?”

“Yeah?”

“Come and help me with this box of paints before I put my back out,” Mom calls.

I chuckle and walk into the back room, bending down and helping her lift the heavy box. “Jeez, you really filled it to the top, didn’t you?” I state.

She shrugs, throwing the box off balance. We struggle to steady it but gain control before we lose our grip again. It happens in slow motion, Mom tries to steady her side but it slips from her grasp, her eyes widening as it crashes to the floor; paint splattering all up the newly painted white wall.

She snorts, covering her nose and mouth with her hands, stifling a laugh. “Well, that wasn’t supposed to happen.” She gives up her fight and bursts out into a fit of giggles.

I stare at the mess on the floor and back up at the wall, smiling at the look on Mom’s face. “I kinda like it.”

She recovers from her giggle fit and gazes over at the wall with a smile on her face. “I do too.”

The myriad of colors has created a splat that reaches halfway up the wall, almost like it was always meant to be there. “Let’s clean the floor up, but keep that on there. It’s the very first piece of art.”

She wraps her arm around my shoulders and gives me a quick squeeze before grabbing a mop and bucket. Checking which cans and bottles are damaged, I decant the paint from the damaged ones into containers—no point in wasting good paint. Then I clean up the ones that are still intact and place them on the shelves they were originally supposed to be carried over to before standing back and admiring my handiwork again.

Satisfied that that is all done, I turn and gaze over the rest of the studio with a giant smile on my face, filled with pride that this is all mine. It’s beautiful and everything that I ever envisioned.

I run my hand over the wood textured surface of the high tables and look up at the copper lights hanging from the old, wooden beams. It’s taken us almost a full month to get the studio how I wanted it, but it’s been worth every grueling hour of work that we’ve put in.

Mom walks into the room with a bottle of champagne and two glasses in her hands, handing me the bottle when she reaches me. “I think we’ve covered everything on the list. Would you like to do the honors?”

I nod and pop the cork, cheering with her as my stomach somersaults with nerves. It’s opening day tomorrow and I can hardly wait, but I’m also scared.

What if I can’t resonate with these kids like I did my last ones? What if I’m a massive failure? I’d like to try and tell myself that that isn’t so—I am after all an optimist, I always have been—but I need this to work, it’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.

“I’m proud of you, Harmony, we both are,” Mom says, tapping her hand over her heart.

My eyes fill with tears at the motion; it’s where she says Dad lives on now.

“I never could have done it without you.”

“Of course you could’ve, you can do anything you put your mind to.” She gives me a soft smile. “But things are better shared with loved ones,” she states matter-of-factly and glugs down the last of her champagne.